


Firsts and Phantasms

by RedHawkeRevolver



Series: Scars and Love [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cullen loves that more than is reasonable, Dorian being helpful, Dorian knew he would, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mention of Dorian/Iron Bull, Romance, Virgin!Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHawkeRevolver/pseuds/RedHawkeRevolver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the kiss, Cullen has to free himself from a few more demons before he can freely give himself to Evelyn. Evelyn wants nothing more than to give herself to Cullen. Dorian, in the spirit of giving, gives them a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows after my other fic Scars and Healing, but it can stand alone. At the end of that fic I left our adorable couple kissing. Apparently they haven't made much forward progress since then, so it's time to move them along. It may take a couple chapters though. Going for a bit of humor, a bit of angst and a bit of smut to round it out. Thanks for reading!

"You nearly blinded poor Cullen."

"Heard about that from him, did you?" Dorian lazily pulled his feet off the table in front of him, set down the book he was reading and looked up at his accuser.

Evelyn glanced furtively around the library making sure no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. "From him, from Cassandra, from Cabot at the tavern, from one of the cook's assistants, from the maid who cleans my rooms...shall I go on?"

"Please do, it's about time the people here started talking about something important for a change. Namely, me."

"...and there was a group of Antivan ladies in the courtyard outside fanning themselves, in the cold mind you, and practically licking their lips as they speculated about the details." She shook her head and crossed her arms trying to look appropriately scolding.

"Care to hear those details?" Dorian offered with a casual smile. "Cullen and Cassandra, sadly, missed the 'detail' portion of the evening."

"Another time, perhaps." Evelyn replied dryly. "The only reason I'm even humoring you by discussing this is because I told them I would have a chat with you on choosing somewhat more discreet places for your romantic escapades in the future. Although why this task must fall to me is a mystery."

"Well, we are family." The sparkle in Dorian's eyes made her grin in spite of herself. Varric's appellation for him was appropriate in more ways than one. She let him continue. "I thought our location was sufficiently discreet, actually. It was quite late after all."

"The Chantry, Dorian?! Really?!" She said that a bit too loud. She noticed a few people turn their heads in her direction, their ears perking up. She retreated further into Dorian's alcove and lowered her voice. "Maker preserve us! We just christened the place. And it opens right into the garden. And..." She stopped when an image of the tryst in question popped unbidden into her head. She closed her eyes and tried to shake it away. Dorian noticed.

"Yeeeesssss?" He purred.

"I just never...I wouldn't have thought...The Iron Bull?" Evelyn spit it out, exasperated.

"Hahaha!" Dorian laughed in victory at drawing a blush into her cheeks. "You can't deny you've thought about what he might be like as a lover. Well, I simply acted on my curiosity. And it was quite worth it I assure you. As I said, I'm willing to share the details."

"I most certainly have never thought about it! And frankly, I don't want to think about it now!" It was the truth, despite Bull constantly inserting innuendo into casual conversation with everyone. Evelyn's thoughts were typically so consumed by Cullen, there wasn't much room for anyone else in her fantasies.

"Ah, dearest cousin, you and your Commander are so adorably..vanilla. What was he doing praying at the Chantry with Cassandra in the middle of the night anyway instead of worshipping at your alter?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively and smoothed out his mustache.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and sighed. She sat down in the chair opposite her friend. "I convinced him to let Caasandra teach him some meditation techniques to help with the lyrium withdrawal." Dorian was the only person aside from she and Cassandra who knew about Cullen's silent plight. She supposed Leliana knew as well, but that didn't really count, as the Spymaster tended to know everything.

Originally, despite the fact that she wanted a confidant to talk to about it, and Dorian had quickly become her closest friend, she questioned the wisdom of sharing Cullen's personal affairs with anyone. It was Dorian, however, who had suspected the truth of the matter and had brought it up first when she told him they were becoming 'involved'.

"Interesting." He commented vaguely. Evelyn couldn't read his tone. "And is it helping?"

"He tells me that it is. I believe him."

"But?" Of course he would know there was a 'but'.

"But I still worry for him."

"I have no doubt that you do." He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "If you want my opinion though, my first recommendation stands. He'd be better off spending the nights in your arms than kneeling on the cold stone of the Chantry floor next to a dour Cassandra. You don't have the benefit of seeing how he is when you're not around. He's every bit as stiff, insufferable and short tempered as your little friend Sera is always saying he is. You introduce a healthy bit of humanity to our Commander. His prickly bits smooth out nicely when he's with you, even if the two of you are overly 'proper' in public. As I said, sometimes vanilla isn't so bad."

"There's nothing wrong with propriety, Dorian. Not all of us can be so...comfortable in our own skins as you are. You know Cullen likes to keep his private business private."

"Yes, going back to private business, you should take my advice and have him take you tonight instead. In the Chantry or otherwise. I garauntee it will do him a world of good compared to this meditation nonsense."

Evelyn sighed again, deeper and somewhat more despondant. "No one has 'taken' anything yet." Saying it aloud seemed to increase her disappointment over the matter.

Dorian sat up straight. "What?" He seemed incredulous. "It's been weeks! Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? What kind of question is that? Of course I'm sure! And 'weeks' isn't all that long by the way."

"You were pining after him for months before that first adorable little interlude on the battlements. Which was hardly the epitome of privacy, by the way." He added smugly.

"Yes, but once again, not all of us are so comfortable with ourselves. And there are extenuating circumstances here as you well know. I think he might be afraid."

Dorian nodded his head in what appeared to be commiseration. "I suppose I can sympathize with that. Women scare the Void out of me as well, but that is the path he's committed to, despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise."

Evelyn couldn't help but chuckle. Dorian always made her feel more lighthearted about things that were weighing heavily on her mind. "While I realize I often strike fear in the hearts of men," she smiled and gave him a wink, "in this situation I believe he is more afraid of himself than of me. He always seems to be holding himself in check. There's some deep bit of tension there that he just can't let go of, even around me. And the other night didn't help."

"And what happened the other night?"

She hadn't yet had a chance to discuss this with Dorian and she was glad to finally be hearing his advice on the matter. "He was waiting up for me, but it was very late when we returned, you remember?"

"I remember you left us to take care of your horse and your bags so you could run up to his tower." Dorian said with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Well, I found him asleep at his desk. I thought to wake him up with a kiss. It was a very bad idea..." Her voice trailed off remembering. She described what happened to Dorian.

Cullen's office was dark, the candles having burned down. She tiptoed over behind his desk but when she leaned into him, he awoke with a start and before she could say anything or back away, he had her by the throat and shoved up against the bookshelves. In the moonlight his eyes were distant and wild. It was as if he wasn't seeing reality. He wasn't seeing her. It had taken several moments of soft words and pleading all while she struggled to draw breath before whatever phantasms of the past plaguing him dissolved, allowing him to return to the present.

Dorian leaned forward, his brow creased with uncharacteristic concern. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" He asked in a low voice.

"Of course not." She assured her secretly protective companion. She couldn't help but wonder how many people had made the mistake of underestimating Dorian based on his easy-going demeanor. It was perhaps his greatest weapon that his flamboyant attitude concealed his very dangerous abilities.

When he relaxed back in his seat, she proceeded with the story, explaining that when Cullen was himself again and the demons behind his eyes had gone, he was mortified. He dropped his hands from her, shaking. He actually ran from his own office, begging forgiveness, leaving her in the dark alone. She didn't know where he went, but he was able to avoid her the rest of the night and the entire next day before he showed up at her quarters the following evening.

He tried to stumble through explanations and apologies, but she would have none of it. He didn't need to explain himself or apologize to anyone, least of all her. He seemed grateful for her response but still deeply troubled.

"I don't think he would ever hurt me, knowingly or otherwise, but I wish there was something I could do to assure him of that. Sometimes his faith in himself seems tenuous at best. I thought perhaps the meditation might help him gain some control over the ghosts he still carries. At least enough to not have his self-doubt come between us. Time will tell, I suppose."

At this point, however, Evelyn wasn't sure anymore if time was helping or hindering them.

Perceptive as always, Dorian agreed with her unspoken concern. "What is it with the two of you and all this 'time' you're allowing to slip away? Time doesn't make the memory of past horrors disappear, believe me. It just makes them more bitter. Making new memories is what eventually pushes them aside. I speak from experience. Which is why I personally take every opportunity to make new memories. Nothing says 'fuck you' to the past like a good fuck."

"Mm-hm." She acknowledged, albeit skeptically. "And how do you presume I go about helping him make those new memories without tripping over his knee-deep angst and unconscious anger issues?" She could only be this frank with Dorian and she was so grateful for it.

"Well, how should I know?" He exclaimed indignantly. "Use those terrifying female wiles of yours, I suppose? Call on past experience? Orchestrate a seduction perhaps? If I had a plan to get past the Commander's formidable emotional fortifications, I would have been defiling your Chantry last night with him instead of The Iron Bull, my dear."

Evelyn couldn't help but laugh; at Dorian, at the situation, but sadly, most of all, at herself. She might as well admit what she had yet to reveal to him. "Regrettably, Dorian, I have no past experience with which to draw from..." She let the implication hang there, allowing him to infer her meaning with out having to speak it outright.

He waited for her to finish, but when she didn't, he narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, pursed his lips and then burst into laughter. "You're kidding! You must be kidding? Is that even possible? Do you know how old you are? You must be the only noble brat alive who hasn't at least dallied with the help. Gods! You're like a griffon or something! Who knew your kind even still existed!" Dorian's excessive mirth was starting to turn heads in their direction again.

"Are you quite finished?" She snapped at him. "Why would I be kidding about this? Do you think this is something someone my age would casually admit to if it wasn't true?"

Dorian eventually composed himself. "And here I thought you Chantry girls were the most wicked of all. Well, no matter. To be honest, I'd wager this is exactly the kind of thing a man like the Commander would just eat up. Literally and figuratively. True love and first times, dashing knights with swooning ladies to protect and all that. It's so romantic I could vomit."

Evelyn just frowned. "Do you have anything constructive to offer?"

There was the sparkle again. "Don't I always? I understand the man has issues, but underneath all that armor is a different person than he lets the rest of the world see. And I have no doubt that person is a fantastic lay."

Evelyn pulled a sour face at him.

Dorian huffed. "Fine. A fantastic lay...and a wonderful man. We just have to get him out of that armor."

"We?" Evelyn was suddenly nervous.

"Yes, we. The two of you are hopeless. You need me. Lucky for you, I'm generous with myself. I shall think on the matter. You may go now." And with that, Dorian waved her away imperiously and picked up his book again.

She smiled and shook her head as she left Dorian to his reading. She trusted him with her life. But did she trust him with her love?


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen collapsed to the ground. He dropped his sword and sat in the dirt, catching his breath. The sun was just now peaking over the tops of Skyhold's walls. The air was soothingly cool against his skin. He wiped the sweat away from his brow and ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned back and lay flat, staring up at the sky.

There was no one yet about. The silence was blissful. This was when he preferred to exercise his sword. Rising before dawn to practice his skills against the innocent dummies in the training yard was as good an excuse as any to be awake when normal people were still sleeping. He was always glad to have an excuse to pass as normal, rather than admit the truth of why sleep eluded him.

'The Commander is dedicated; working before dawn until late into the night.' That was what he preferred people to say of him. And he was dedicated, but there was selfishness in that dedication, for sometimes his dedication had nothing to do with the Inquisition and everything to do with keeping the demons out of his head.

Which is what brought him out here this morning. Phantom images of old memories had haunted him all night. In fact, it had been a trying past few days, made all the worse by Evelyn being here.

Normally it was the exact opposite, his only reprieve often coming in her presence alone. But not this time. In the same way the darkness of the past tainted everything in his life, it had now tainted what he had with her as well. It had been foolish of him to think it could be otherwise.

The sky above him was rapidly turning from dark grey to pale blue. Another day to battle through. He closed his eyes and spoke a prayer under his breath, as he did every morning, asking for the strength to persevere, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

When he opened his eyes again, the heavens above him were blocked by an equally heavenly sight. Evelyn was leaning over him. He never heard her approach. She always managed to sneak up on him. It had taken some getting used to. He wasn't one for surprises. Early on, even before they had become close, she noticed how it unsettled him and she offered to wear a bell. At the time, he obviously considered it a jest. Little did he know then that if he had asked her to do it, she would have.

She was good to him. Good for him. Far too good. He closed his eyes again. He didn't want to. He wanted to stare at her until the skies fell, but he was still having trouble facing her easy smile after what he had done the other night. She had waved it away as if it was nothing, refused to hear his apologies and she hadn't brought it up to him since, not changing how she was around him in any way as a result.

He was not taking it so well. He had attacked her. There was no excuse for it and in his mind there should be no forgiveness for it. He had nearly taken away not only his own salvation but that of the world, because his damaged mind had conjured demons where there were none.

When he felt the soft touch of her lips on the tip of his nose he looked up at her again. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. For her own sake and safety he wanted her to come to her senses and stay far away from him. But he was weak and he was selfish and he found himself unable to push her away.

"Did you break the dummies again?" She asked lightly.

"Only one this time." He replied.

She extended her hand to him and he took it, rising to his feet. She was holding his shirt which he had discarded carelessly on the ground and she handed it to him. "Did you sleep?"

"A little." He lied. One more thing to hate himself for, but she didn't need to know, she would only worry. He was certain she spent too much of her energy worrying over him.

She tilted her head and bit her lip, but left the subject where it was and spoke of other things. "Apparently I'm to entertain the delegation from Starkhaven all day." She sounded put out.

"They are important allies." He offered, trying to make her feel less like a court jester and more like a respected leader, even if he did agree with her annoyance. He knew she preferred to play politics outside the walls of Skyhold. When she was here she wanted to rest and look after her own people.

When they had first arrived at Skyhold she said she wanted this place to be a true home for all of them. She said a home should be a sacred place, untainted by the troubles of the world outside its walls; a place of respite and a rock upon which to build a future. He supposed that had been true of his childhood home, but every home he had known since then had been the epicenter of trouble itself, built upon shifting sands and offering only endings and no futures to speak of. He often thought is was not so much this place that epitomized her definition of home as it was Evelyn's presence in it.

"Can I see you afterward? Tonight?" She asked.

He reached out to touch her face, his hand caressing her jaw. He pulled her into a kiss. "You know you don't have to ask."

"But when I ask, I get a kiss." She beamed at him. To him it seemed brighter than the sun. "Try to rest a little today?"

"I'll try." Another lie.

Evelyn nodded slowly. If she was suspicious of his assertion that he would look after himself, she spoke nothing of it to him. She simply smiled and then left him to his day.

He wanted to follow her. He wanted to steal her away and take back all the lies. He wanted to give her more than lies; to show her that he wanted to be so much more to her. He wanted to be what she deserved.

Leaving the Order, stopping the lyrium, these attempts at redemption, at reclaiming his life were empty, meaningless, if there was nothing that came after. He wanted to push away the demons of the past and move forward. With her. There was a future there, he knew, somewhere, waiting for them. Her continued presence was enough to give him hope that it existed.

But he just couldn't get there. Not like this. Not when he still couldn't see past his ghosts to find his way to it.

He watched her back as she walked away, going off to fulfill her duties. Giving her a last lingering glance, that held more longing than he would have liked so early in the morning, he turned, picked up his sword and left to fulfill his own.

He moved through the motions of command as the day wore on. Solving one problem simply paved the way to deal with seven more. The doors to his office had been in a constant state of open all day. There seemed to be countless people coming and going, all with issues that needed his attention. So when, just after midday, the traffic and the demands on his time that came with it suddenly stopped, he took notice and was immediately suspicious.

It was at that moment, the friend of his suspicions appeared. Dorian casually leaned in the open doorway.

"I'm bored."

Cullen didn't even deign to look up from the reports on his desk. "I fail to see how that concerns me. I'm busy." As much as he was beginning to consider Dorian something akin to a friend, the mage's ennui did not warrant his attention.

"No, you're not. Not at the moment anyway, and not for while at a least."

As he thought. Suspicious. Cullen finally looked up. "And why is that?"

"She gave explicit orders that no one bother you this afternoon."

Of course she did. Sometimes their Inquisitor reminded him entirely too much of Sister Leliana. He was never sure exactly how much she was manipulating behind the scenes. He considered being angry that he wasn't immune to her machinations but he knew she was thinking only of his best interests.

"If I'm not to be bothered, why are you here then?" He asked Dorian.

"I feel as though the order didn't apply to me."

Cullen felt the need to add wryly, "Why is it easy for me to imagine that you often feel that way about orders?"

Dorian ignored him. "...And as I said, I'm bored. Care for a game?"

Cullen looked back down at his paperwork. Now that his concentration over it had been broken, he could think of nothing he wanted to do less than go back to it. "Fine." He conceded. "Let's go."

The two of them walked together to the garden. On the way, they passed a few of his officers who nodded at him in acknowledgement, but avoided eye contact. They were likely hoping he wouldn't try to engage them in work. If he did then they would be caught between their Commander and the orders of the Inquisitor. Not an enviable position, especially since there was no hope that she wouldn't find out about it. The damned woman seemed to know everything about everyone's business. Again, too much like Leliana. He chuckled a little under his breath.

"Something funny, Commander?" Dorian asked as they sat down on either side of the chess table.

"When exactly did she say I was permitted to return to work?" His sarcasm wasn't wasted on Dorian, but the mage simply replied with a bit of his own.

"Come, come, you agreed to play. Don't think you can back out now simply because you fear losing to me."

"Ha! Please! I was only trying to plan how long I can make you suffer before defeating you." Despite his initial reluctance, Cullen was already enjoying himself.

Dorian made the first move and then leaned back in his chair. "So, I was discussing your sex life with Evelyn..."

Cullen choked on his own saliva.

Dorian ignored it. "...or lack thereof, as the case may be."

He knew Evelyn and Dorian were quite close, but he would rather remain blissfully ignorant of what the two chose to discuss where he was concerned.

Cullen tried to appear disinterested. As much as any man can appear disinterested in his own sex life. "This isn't going to distract me into giving up the game to you. And how is it any of your business anyway?"

"My dear cousin's happiness is very important business to me, Commander."

A twinge of curious uncertainty bit at the back of Cullen's mind. "Has she...said she's...unhappy...?"

"As we both know, it seems there's nothing for her to be happy or unhappy about." Dorian took on an accusatory tone.

Cullen really did not want to have this conversation. He didn't want to have this conversation with himself. He didn't want to have this conversation with Evelyn. And he was certain that there was no conversation in all the world that he wanted to have less with Dorian. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he made some kind of grunting noise.

"That's fine. I presumed you would have little to say on the subject. Besides, I rather prefer hearing my own voice than having to listen to others, so feel free to enjoy it as well while I talk."

Cullen shifted in his seat, almost thinking to get up and run.

"Leaving are you? Does this mean I win?"

He settled back in, muttering a curse. He couldn't very well let Dorian win could he?

"That's what I thought." Dorian commented a little smugly. "Anyway, how well would you say you know our sweet Evelyn?"

Cullen opened his mouth to say something, but he should have known better than to try, because the mage just kept right on talking, without actually giving him a chance to respond.

"Because I recently learned the most interesting thing you've ever heard."

"Does she know you're casually sharing her business?" He managed to slip the question in while Dorian was taking a breath.

"I'm not relating anything you wouldn't eventually have learned on your own. There's no telling when that would have been, however, hence the point of this conversation."

Cullen shifted in his chair again. He wanted to get up and walk away indignantly, preserving Evelyn's privacy...but he also wanted to hear this...

"Andraste's chosen one is, apparently, pure as the driven snow."

What? He said the word aloud."What?" What was that supposed to mean?

Dorian rolled his eyes at him. "The dear girl's an innocent! At least keep up with the conversation if you won't participate! She's untouched. A virgin. Understand?"

"I...um...what?" Cullen leaned forward, his eyes squinting and his nose wrinkling as if he hadn't quite heard correctly.

"I don't think I need to repeat myself. Though I admit my reaction was much the same. Well, more articulate, of course, but no less shocked."

Cullen had to remind himself to breath. This certainly wasn't something he had been expecting to learn today. Maker! He knew she was young. Much younger than himself. He had spent more than a few nights pondering his insecurities in that regard. But this. He wasn't sure how to respond to this. Or if he should respond at all.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he wasnt' sure yet, Dorian responded for him.

"Now, you must be thinking, 'What in the world am I supposed to do with this information?'" Cullen was not amused by Dorian's impression of his Fereldon accent. "Which is exactly the problem, Commander. You see, while you're pondering how to process what I've told you and what you should do about it, if anything, any other man would know exactly what to do about it. There wouldn't even be a question."

He really didn't want to be having this conversation. The game pieces before him blurred in his vision. He rubbed his eyes.

Dorian imitated him again, "Why, Dorian, my wise and trusted friend, please tell me what a normal man would do?" Now back to his own voice. "Well, Cullen, a normal man would be rushing to cure her affliction as soon as humanly possible. It seems our girl wants to be rid of it post haste, having found true love and all that nonsense." He waved his hand in Cullen's direction.

What? Cullen's vocabulary had apparently degenerated down to that single word. He attempted to formulate and actual response. "Did she...um...say that?" Maker! Why would he ask that? When had he turned into a simpering teenager?

Dorian shrugged. "Not in so many words. She didn't need to. I know a love sick woman when I see one. I have to turn them away so often, after all, the poor things." He sighed and continued. "Anyway, I have no idea how she came to be in this predicament. Innocence aside, she's such a passionate soul..."

Cullen found himself nodding his head in agreement. She was passionate. His gut twisted and his chest tightened at thoughts of how her lips always molded so sweetly to his, at how her lithe form always rose up so eagerly to meet him, at how her green eyes shone with want and desire. She was passion personified.

Wait. How...? "And how would you know how passionate she is?" He demanded a little to harshly of Dorian.

"Oh spare me your chivalrous jealousies Commander. Honestly, if anyone's chastity is in jeopardy from me, it's yours, not hers." Dorian winked and his lips motioned a kiss at him. "Passion is not something limited to lovemaking. But we've gone off topic. We were discussing how, as a red-blooded man, you should be doing something about this travesty! Especially since said 'chosen one' has chosen you."

And there was the crux of it. Cullen found himself surrendering to the discussion at hand. "It is extremely complicated, Dorian. There are...things you don't know; that she doesn't know. I will not see her harmed. Not by anyone's hand, but most certainly not by my own." He growled out the statement, revealing more frustration than he wanted.

Dorian looked him straight on and his tone grew suddenly serious. "Commander, if I thought you would harm her, I assure you that we wouldn't be having this very pleasant conversation right now."

It appeared Cullen wasn't the only person who had grown overly protective of Evelyn. His respect for Dorian grew, especially since he was a mage threatening an ex-Templar. If nothing else, Evelyn commanded the loyalty of her friends.

Cullen closed his eyes and sighed. "It isn't as if I'm not willing. Maker! Who wouldn't be willing? It's just..." His voice trailed off, not wanting to speak aloud the doubts that haunted him. He couldn't expose her to his demons. And knowing she had yet to experience... If he were to be her first... He only wanted good things for her, it was what she deserved. He wasn't at all sure he could guarantee her that. Not after what he had already done.

But then where did that leave him? Living in a half-committed perpetual fear? And where did that leave her? Forever waiting for him to bury his ghosts? And what if he never could? He rubbed at his temples. This was everything he didn't want to even think about, let alone lay bare in front of someone, even if he considered them a friend.

Dorian resumed his lighthearted discourse and idly made a move with one of his pieces. "Ah well. A prize such as Evelyn does not go unclaimed forever. If you aren't willing, I have no doubt there are countless others who would be. For instance, I hear she's busy parading around with the emissaries from Starkhaven today. Their prince is still looking for a wife. From what I've heard tell, she would be just perfect for him. Varric knows him reasonably well, in fact, says he's quite dashing."

Cullen looked up at that. He had known Prince Sebastian also, in passing, in Kirkwall. Although he didn't recall feeling any hatred for the man back then as he seemed to be experiencing at the moment.

There were now two opposing thoughts dominating his head. He couldn't claim Evelyn because he feared hurting her. But he would not allow anyone else to claim her. Especially now that he knew about her innocence. He may not trust himself with it, but he'd be damned before he entrusted it to any rogue of a prince who just happened to be walking by. Evelyn was his. His.

"I'm going to assume, Commander, that you're intellect is currently at odds with your ego. Hopefully, for both of your sakes' the right one will prevail. And, with that, I believe this game is mine."

Cullen, startled out of his possessive reverie, looked down at the table.

Fuck. Dorian had beaten him.

Dorian rose from the table. "Sometimes not moving at all loses the game just as quickly as making the wrong moves, Commander. And one last thing, in case I wasn't clear. I like you very much, and I don't think you will, but if you did hurt her I'd have to make sure you learned why mages from my homeland are so feared. Don't make me have to do that. We're both far too pretty for such ugliness."

The mage turned without another word and walked away, leaving Cullen with his ghosts, his doubts and his choices.


	3. Chapter 3

Night had fallen, the moons had risen and Cullen remained right where Dorian had left him. He sat there like a statue all afternoon just staring at the game pieces in front of him, evidence of his ignoble defeat. Another kind of defeat was etched into the lines creasing his brow and the frown on his lips.

A few soldiers passed him, two of Leliana's agents came to find him, but none actually came within speaking distance, all very wisely deciding whatever business they had wasn't urgent enough to risk him turning the scowl he was wearing upon them.

He almost wished someone would have approached him. Nothing good ever came from being left too long alone with his thoughts. And he had been sitting here entirely too long. As the sun sank deeper into the horizon his mind had started to take a dark turn matching the darkening sky.

It hadn't started that way, it never did. At first he had simply sat thinking about what Dorian had said; thinking about Evelyn. But innocent thoughts of her smile and her eyes eventually gave way to deeper thoughts of what she tasted like and how she felt in his arms.

And with those thoughts came the emotions inevitably tied to them. Affection, at first, obviously, but he knew all too well how quickly that path followed onto others. What would it be like to be her first? She would be his in a way no other ever would. He could take her for his own. Untouched. Uncorrupted. She wanted him and he could have her so easily. He wanted to have her... He wanted to be the only one to touch her. He wanted to take her... Show her... Corrupt her...

Desire. Hunger. Primal needs and dangerous urges that could so easily turn violent. A violence he didn't dare admit he had inside him, except in quiet moments like these when the memories of past torments were able to push to the front of an idle mind. He had been shown things, things about himself, about what he was capable of. There were demons who had been all too happy to show him how easy it would be to lose control, to lose faith, to give in. He had seen others succumb to what they thought were innocent wants only to have those wants tainted and ultimately consume them.

He had been shown things. In the Fade, in dreams, he had seen himself lose his grip, falling to a place where hungers and desires turned so readily to rage and despair. He had seen his own face twisted in depravity and his own hands as they wrought destruction. And it was too real, too close to the surface to dismiss as meaningless apparitions. To this day, if he thought too much on it, he couldn't honestly tell himself that he was sure he resisted the temptation and that the images that still haunted him were only images, nothing more.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the ghosts that were creeping into the edges of his vision. They always seemed closer now since he had given up the lyrium. The night he attacked Evelyn, waking from a nightmare, they were all he saw. He hadn't seen her, and he couldn't trust himself to keep it from happening again. She was too dangerously close to being everything he had always wanted, everything he could ever want.

He wanted her far too much for her to be safe.

xxxx

"How long have you been up here?" Dorian sidled up to Evelyn, speaking softly. She was standing in the shadows on a balcony overlooking where Cullen sat in the garden.

"An hour at most." She said absently, not taking her eyes away from the man below.

Dorian leaned out into the moonlight, "Has he been down there since this afternoon?" She pulled him back into the darkness and shushed him, not wanting Cullen to notice them.

"He has." She answered.

"What do you suppose he's been doing all this time?" Dorian asked curiously.

"I don't know. Thinking, it seems."

"Well, I certainly gave him a lot to think on, so I'll take that as a good thing."

"He looks troubled." She furrowed her brow and bit at her bottom lip.

"He is troubled. You're troubled. I'm troubled. Everyone here is troubled. I daresay it's why we all get along so marvelously." He folded his arms. "And you'll recall that before you started this venture, I warned you that if you were looking for something uncomplicated you should probably look elsewhere. But the good Commander appeared to be the only thing you wanted despite the risks."

"He still is. I just wish I knew what he was thinking."

"You could ask him instead of slinking about up here spying on the man." Dorian drawled.

"Sometimes there's more to be learned by silent observation than asking questions you're bound to get false answers to. Or no answers at all." She wouldn't call it 'spying' necessarily. More like concerned attentiveness. "He's shared quite a bit of his past with me, but none of us lay bare every dark corner of ourselves, do we?"

"Indeed we don't." Dorian sighed. "I'll never know why women like the tormented ones. Give me a beautiful, uncomplicated man, any day over this...drama." He gestured towards Cullen.

Evelyn laughed softly. "You liar. I've seen dozens of beautiful ,very simple, men making eyes at you since the moment you joined us and who do you end up with? A former Qunari spy? If that doesn't scream 'I have daddy issues', I don't know what does."

Dorian laughed back darkly. "As I said, we're all troubled. And I'll have you know there are at least hundreds of beautiful simple men who've made eyes at me. 'Dozens' indeed! There's no need to be insulting!"

They stood in silence for another few moments before he gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Promise me you won't stay out here all night?"

"I go where he goes, Dorian. Even if I have to slink about in the shadows to do it." They exchanged smiles as he walked away.

Evelyn brought her full attention back to Cullen. She was just in time to see him squeeze his eyes shut. He slowly hung his head and brought up the palms of his hands to rub them against his forehead. She leaned forward, continuing to watch him. Eventually he rose. The sound of his chair screeched against the flagstones as it was pushed back and it echoed around them. He just stood for a moment, then he turned and strode with heavy steps across the garden, his armor clinking softly.

Wanting to keep him in her sights, she opted to climb and jump her way down into the garden from her elevated position. There was no time to walk all the way back through the keep to get to him normally. After a brief display of acrobatics, she landed softly on the balls of her feet in the grass. She held her breath and remained still, crouching in a shadow. He had just pulled open the large doors of the Chantry and stepped inside, not bothering to shut them.

Evelyn was grateful it was late enough that no one was about. She would have a hard time explaining why she was creeping around in the dark like a criminal. She wasn't sure she could sacrifice enough dignity to admit to spying on her would-be lover, even if the gossip about the two of them had been circulating for quite some time already.

She walked softly over to the open doors and hovered silently just outside. A few stray moonbeams trickled their light onto the imposing statue of Andraste. Evelyn's deep and even breaths puffed out before her, pale and fleeting. Inside, Cullen was down on one knee, back turned to her, murmuring to himself. She held her breath and listened.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Evelyn was loathe to interrupt his prayer, but even in a soft whisper she could hear the tension in his voice. Her need to go to him and do what she could to ease that tension overruled her previous desire to remain out of sight. She shifted her feet and took a breath. Subtle, but just enough for him to take notice.

He lifted his head and turned it just barely towards her, his eyes still focused on the stone of the floor. "Were you following me?" He asked her, seeming too tired to sound truly accusatory.

She wouldn't lie to him. "I was. Does that upset you?" She couldn't bring herself to apologize for worrying about him. She loved him. It couldn't be helped.

He turned back to face Andraste. "It should, but it doesn't. I don't know if it's more or less troubling that I've grown to find comfort in being stalked by you."

She offered a self-deprecating smile. "If you asked me to stop, I would."

Cullen rose, his fists clenched at his sides, and let out a pained and frustrated sound. He whirled around to face Evelyn.

"I should. I should ask that of you. I should ask you to stay far away and not trouble with me any longer, lest you find trouble for yourself."

Faster than she thought a large man could move, he crossed the room and was upon her where she still hovered in the open doorway. He cupped her face in his hands, his golden eyes looking down at her, dark and smoldering. His fingers creeped up to her hair and they clenched into fists gathering her locks into them. She felt the sharp tug of it on her scalp, wanting to say it hurt but enjoying the feeling of it far too much to be considered modest.

He closed his eyes and leaned down to touch their foreheads together. His whole body seemed wound up tight, hitched breath, straining muscles hidden under leather and metal. He seemed barely in control and she barely cared. Was this what he meant? Was it possible he could cause her harm, whether intentional or not?

A dark kernel of desire inside her stirred, and even buried as it was under tender affection, it screamed eagerly nonetheless, wanting to find out. She knew she wouldn't have to do much. Were these the feminine wiles Dorian spoke of? An instinct for seduction? One small movement on her part and she felt he might snap. For a man who detested games, it was he who had now drawn her into one, daring her to play.

She moved. It was nothing but a nearly imperceptible tilt of her chin up towards him but it was enough. The hands in her hair nearly pulled her back to brace her against the doorframe, his mouth attacked her, first her lips then her jaw then her neck and...oh!...her collarbone where he pulled her tunic aside. Neither of them even tried to speak as his assault continued, hands everywhere, lips trying to find any exposed skin. The only sound was the snap of torches and the gasps of their stolen breaths in the shadows.

Where he was all feral action and working muscles, she had wilted into a boneless compliance that would have been frightening if it wasn't Cullen she was with. Her lust addled mind briefly wondered if that was how she knew she had made the right decision giving herself to him, the fact that she was willing to give up her control.

Suddenly she sensed they were moving. The doorframe digging into her spine had changed to stone and the stone beneath her feet had changed to grass. She felt herself being half carried, half dragged across the garden and then back inside the keep. He was wearing her almost as close as he wore his armor, his lips never parting from her for long, his arms never leaving her.

She found strength enough to open her eyes when they made it to the main hall. She had enough sense to thank the Maker the place was deserted, or at least what she could see of it through the flutter of her eye lashes as her eyes shut again when he bit the shell of her ear and...holy Maker!...chasing the nip with a languid lick of his tongue.

"Mmmmmm..." The sound that escaped her came from somewhere deep in her gut where a fire had started. The flames were growing, assaulting her insides and she was suddenly so hot. Just as she thought that, she felt and arm move underneath her bottom and hoist her up, the plane of her stomach dragging along the hard length of him as she instinctively brought her legs up to wrap around his waist. She heard him grunt and then heard a door being pulled open and then slamming back against a wall. Then they were outside again and a cold wind whipped against them, giving a small measure of relief against the heat melting her from within.

There was another door, slammed opened and slammed closed and...fuck!...he was sucking at the pulse in her neck like he was drawing poison from a wound and as if the spot was somehow connected to her limbs, she felt her legs tighten around him trying to press them closer together.

She felt like she couldn't breathe, her mouth reluctant to welcome air, when it could instead welcome him, and her chest unable to expand when she was dumped harshly onto what she knew was Cullen's desk, trapped between the wood and his body.

He let out another low and frustrated cry as one of his arms left her and swept outward knocking everything covering his workspace to the floor. Papers fluttered away, books thudded down, but the shrill shattering of glass against stone is what shattered the fog of passion that carried them here.

Cullen jerked back at the sound, holding painfully still and just staring down at her with intense gold eyes blown nearly to black. He had that faraway look, as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing, his mind torn between reality and...something else.

Every part of her screamed to pull him back down, draw him closer, hold him tighter, but he kept her at arm's length, panting, obviously trying to calm his own fire as it licked at his resolve. He reached back and pulled her legs down from around him and he stumbled backwards, hands outstretched before him as if he was defending himself from their mutual desire.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. It was a gesture she had seen him make many times and she wondered what phantoms he was trying to shake away. "Maker's breath...I'm sorry, we can't, not here, not like this, not for your first..."

Evelyn sucked in a deep but unsteady breath. Cullen's office was dark and blurry and she tried to blink away the heat of lust so she could focus on him. "Dorian told you? So you know?" She croaked out, throat dry, voice weak. She stood on wobbly legs and stepped towards him. Like a magnet he mirrored her movements and she instantly felt better, more stable the closer he was to her. Even those few paces apart hurt, ached, as if it took entirely too much effort to keep their bodies from touching.

Not without what seemed like great effort, she saw control creep back into Cullen's movements. He extended his arm and caught her face with his hand again, daring to touch but trying to stop it at just that. "Know?" He laughed bitterly. "It's all I've been able to think about all day. It's...it's...maddening." He growled out and then he parted from her again, hands dropped to his side, clenching into fists. Through bared teeth he bit out, "Evelyn, a man only has but so much control and I warn you, I have less than that. But even so, I can't...I won't allow," he stuttered, paused, then continued, "I won't take you like an animal on top of a desk, for Maker's sake!"

He let out a long sigh. "I don't want to start it like this...us..." He looked at her pointedly, his voice a heart wrenching mixture of commanding and begging, "Don't let me start us like this..."

Whatever demons were still clouding his way forward, the fact that he was able to stop himself from the temptation of following through with a quick and rough tumble meant he could at least push some of them away. It appeared the rest were up to her.

She slowly moved close to him, arms wrapping behind his neck, lips brushing lightly against his. Slow and measured. "Then let me start. And you can finish."


	4. Chapter 4

Evelyn took a slow and calming breath. There was no use attempting to put out the fire inside her, but at least she could try to temper it enough to help Cullen ease the death grip he had clamped down on his control.

She released him from her feather light embrace and they stood apart for a moment.

She couldn't be more grateful that he wanted to be a tender and considerate lover, but if she only accepted that part of him she would be denying a larger part of why she was so consumed by the man, body and soul. She refused to be responsible for letting him continue to suppress the side of himself he constantly tried to hold in check out of misplaced feelings of guilt or shame.

Cullen was tender and considerate and kind. He was loyal, faithful and protective. But he was also willful and harsh. Quick to anger and slow to soothe. Violent and passionate and possessive. And it was every one of those qualities that had set her aflame in equal measure.

He had once told her that he wondered how someone could be the same person after going through the things he had. She didn't know who he was before. And even though it might sound cruel, she didn't care who he had been. He was who he was in the present, and that was the only Cullen she knew; the only one she wanted to know. That was the Cullen she grew to love.

He seemed not to be able to see past the weight of who he 'should have been', always holding back or working to correct the aspects of himself he saw as unacceptable or incompatible with that imagined ideal. There was no 'should have been' in Evelyn's eyes, only the flawed perfection that was Cullen.

Maybe that was exactly what he needed from her, even if he didn't realize it. Perhaps he needed someone who accepted him in the here and now, not who he was or could have been or might be. She loved the man in front of her in this moment, every part of him, dark and light, whole and damaged.

She could help him see what she saw, accept it as she had, and give her what she needed. He could give them what they both needed.

So she reached out her hand to him.

xxxx

When she reached out her hand to him, Cullen hesitated before he took it. It was by Andraste's grace alone he hadn't forced himself upon her on the floor of the Chantry. He had felt her eyes on him even as he sat in the garden. His heart had thumped in his chest like a drumbeat at the very thought of her presence in the shadows, watching him, waiting for him, needing him.

It was foolish to think he might have found solace in prayer; not when he knew she'd follow. Of course she followed. What kind of temptation would she be if she didn't hound his every step, occupy his every thought and fill every corner of his vision with images of sweet surrender? Hers, his, he didn't even know whose surrender it was that obsessed him so.

When he knelt on the cold stone and bowed his head he was transported back to another time when the fractures running through his soul were freshly formed and he prayed, begged, sobbed for the temptation to be taken away. How much could a young man be expected to endure? How much faith did he need to have to be spared? How long before he fell and how far?

But he was no longer young. The voice that spoke the words of the Chant now was heavy with years and in the same way dark magic weakened the Veil, there was a darkness inside him that would forever weaken his control if he allowed it to.

He remembered the clear and forthright purpose he had felt in his youth. It no longer existed. In its place was a dangerous ambivalence. If she tested him, would he even want to resist anymore? Why? He had warned her, he had shown her what he was. His innocence had long left him and a bitter parting it was. If he allowed himself, he would take hers and revel in it. He could show her what temptation really was. But if he did, how long before they both fell, and how far?

When he attacked her, and it was every definition of an attack, his twisted mind made excuses that it was she who brought this assault upon herself. Even as he kissed her lips, tasted her skin, ran his hands all over her, and dragged her across Skyhold with every intention of making her captive in his lair, he told himself she had forced this upon them both. How dare she be so beautiful. How dare she be so pure. How dare she love him.

And then it seemed Andraste truly did protect her chosen one when he was able to salvage the last thin strands of his control and back away from Evelyn's too willing, far far too willing, form before he stole away her virginity rough and hard and mindless.

But as they stood, panting on the precipice, he found himself young again, pleading to her this time, instead of the Maker, to spare him. If they were to fall, he needed it to be her to lead them to it. He loved her. He would not be the one to draw her into temptation. But he would allow himself surrender and follow her.

He took her outstretched hand.

She smiled. It was a thing that seemed to come so easily for her, her smile. She drew him in with it from the beginning and now she drew him forward with it. Her hand was small and warm inside his own, it was willful as she pulled him deliberately along. She let go and turned away to ascend the ladder to his loft, but her grip on him was still strong despite the disappearance of physical contact. She didn't once look back at him to see if he would follow. She offered no extra encouragement save for the delicate sway of narrow hips as she climbed.

He followed like a man possessed, bewitched, enchanted, offering his hand again when he reached the top. With soft footfalls she led them to his bed and then it was her turn to hesitate. She stood still but for her fingers, suddenly nervous, wringing against his. She bit her lower lip as she so often did when she wanted to consider things carefully. But this was no time for careful thought.

The next step fell to him and the chaos in his heart calmed and started to find form in that moment. This was a dance. A give and take, a back and forth, a mutual trust. He was no longer alone with a nameless urge and only his own weakness that had too many names. They were together. Where he might falter, she stood strong and where she didn't know the path forward, he would lead her.

He shifted his grip on her hand and brought it up in turn to each of the fastenings on his armor. She fumbled, her typically deft hands mystified by the puzzle of leather and metal that bound him. He guided her through the motions, digging deep in his reserves of will to maintain a placid countenance when every slight movement she made ignited fires all over his body and every angle of her shifting in and out of the shadows stoked the flames.

As she worked he felt his defenses falling away with his armor. He marveled at how easily it happened, how sure he was about allowing the barriers between them to come down, any perception of risk blowing away with her breath, now hot on his skin.

The job done, she ran her fingers down his chest, too delicate, too soft, eyes wide, lips parted as if entranced. He wanted more. He stepped forward into her touch, need overwhelming him, and he crushed into her with a kiss, trapping her hands between them. He was hungry, starved, but he savored and she tasted so fucking glorious that soon lips and tongues weren't enough to sate him. So he used his teeth and he bit down against her skin on the gentle slope of her neck that he exposed as he pulled her head back.

He heard her whimper and he felt the sound vibrate in her throat as he devoured her. He slowed slightly, waiting for her to pull away, giving her one last chance at escape. She didn't take it. Her previously hesitant fingers clawing upwards to dig into his hair and pull him closer. It was all he needed. It was time.

xxxx

Her confident and determined march up to his loft had faltered when they reached his bed. Blessedly he took over, guiding her trembling fingers through the motions of undressing him. It was a slow a deliciously painful ordeal, revealing little bits of him at a time, taking long moments to study the contours of him and how his body shone gold even in the silver glow of the moons. He felt like divinity itself under her fingertips and when she touched him she ached, ached for him, and she would have begged for him to touch her back if he hadn't acted before she could form the words.

She made some kind of incoherent noise as she fell apart against him feeling hot and wet where he tasted her and where she wanted him to taste her. Something feral broke free inside of her when his assault slowed the barest amount and she grabbed him roughly, indelicately and pulled him closer. Maker bless him, he complied with her need and pushed her backwards catching her in his arms before she landed on the bed. When he sunk down on top of her she moaned, too loud, too desperate but again he heeded her unspoken demands. He lifted her, twisted her, pulled and tugged and where one moment there were clothes between them, now there was only breath and moonlight and...Maker...the sight of him, the sight of them, as they should be, as they always should have been, bare and touching and in each other's arms, it was breathtaking.

She brought her eyes up and away, the sight of all the things she had wanted most too much, and she arched her back as she exhaled roughly. He pulled her back to him and kissed her deeply, relentlessly. More little sounds escaped her as she squirmed and writhed underneath him needing something more or everything all at once she wasn't sure. She didn't know what to do with her hands or her arms or her legs. She didn't know where to touch or how. She wanted to curl up inside the heat of him at the same time she wanted his heat nestled inside of her.

He broke from her lips for long enough to press her down more firmly into the bed, stilling her movements. He held himself a little aloft and focused his gaze on her eyes, giving her a moment to do the same to him. After a silent pause his hand that had been at her hip traveled languidly up her side, dipping in and around her curves. She tried to lean into the touch wanting him to grab her more fiercely, more definitively but he held her immobile. Eventually the hand reached her chin, tilting it down and one finger came to rest on her bottom lip, stopping there only briefly before he slowly but insistently pushed it forward into her mouth.

Her lips parted for it even as she looked up at him curiously. He said nothing, just continued looking down at her, shadows playing across his face making it hard for her to judge his expression. She let his finger rest on her tongue for a moment before she started sucking on it. She had no idea if that's what he desired her to do, her mouth simply moved on an instinct. It was an instinct that apparently met with approval. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and she felt all his muscles tense against her. He moved his finger around as if teaching her its contours and she learned them diligently before he pushed in another.

Now she closed her eyes as well, enjoying the odd action far too much, but enjoying it more when he removed them and trailed the slick fingers on a path downward. They left a trail of chilled skin along her chin, her neck, between her breasts and then over each of them grazing lightly leaving her shuddering and then...Holy Andraste...pinching leaving her to cry out but instead of pulling away from the shock she found herself shamelessly pulling him closer, back arched, chest out and hands digging into his shoulders where she had been bracing herself.

Cullen let her bring him down to her, making shushing noises into her ear combined with a soft laughter that made her feel exposed, more exposed even than when her clothes came off. He was drawing things out of her, unfamiliar actions, secret sounds and hidden pleasures that only he knew about, that only he was allowed because it was only him that she would permit.

And as if he knew that, as if he had always known, he captured another hidden oasis within her when the fingers she had learned with her tongue slipped inside her, lower, deeper and...mmmmm...not enough, not nearly enough. She was heat and fire and she burned and she needed so much more. She whined and found his lips with hers, kissing him eagerly, insistently, using her mouth against his as a silent plea, begging with it.

Without conscious thought her hips moved erratically against his hand. His hand that, before this in their everyday life, she would casually notice resting on the pommel of his sword or rubbing at the back of his neck and she realized she would never look at his hands the same way again. More than that, she was sure she'd be jealous of anything else they ever touched that wasn't her.

He laughed again, damn him, and held her hips still while he continued his motion, deeper, then faster then, damn him again, he stopped. Her eyes that had been shut against the stars in her vision flew open, her legs that had been spread wide for him drew closed, or as closed as possible with him lying between them, trying to keep him in place and her hands that were clinging to him let go and she wanted to hit him for stopping.

Her face must have shown what she was thinking, because he hushed her aggravated cry before she voiced it.

He whispered against her ear, his voice deep and strained, thick with lust as urgent as hers. "I know, love, I'll give you what you need..."

xxxx

Fuck. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning in her skin and her hair and those noises she made and her scent...Fuck. She was unraveling too fast, he felt it. She was new, untested, untouched and damn her if she didn't make him feel the same way again. He was unable to draw this out any further. Every dark phantasm that had ever haunted him was snuffed out and forgotten in this moment by the sight of her beneath him, eager and begging for release. His ears were ringing and his vision blurred and he throbbed.

He leaned back and sat upright. She was angry at the abandonment and he understood, Maker, did he ever understand. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to continue living and if this was the last thing he did before death took him he would wander the Fade happily until the end of days. But he had just enough sense to stop and let her see. Show her. Teach her...

xxxx

When he sat upright and looked down at her, she could see now that he was sweating with restraint, the angle of his jaw tense, his brow furrowed, and his nostrils flaring with labored breaths. He kneeled between her legs and her eyes moved all over him, lips to shoulders to navel to the hard length of him and she started panting shamefully with want.

He took her hand in his and brought it slowly up to feel him. He closed his eyes at the first hesitant touch of her fingertips but he opened them again quickly when she wrapped around him grasping tight. He let out a strangled sounding grunt and grabbed her wrist with equal effect and he pulled her hand along him, in and out, up and down and she felt every flex and twitch and learned every smooth surface and beautiful contour.

She was utterly captivated and her mind reeled at the feeling of him in her hand. The thought of what he would feel like inside of her thrilled her to the point of madness and a flood of imagined sensations spilled over her. What would he sound like when he took her? What would she see in his eyes? What would he taste like if she...

And then her agonizing anticipation was over and he was pulling away her hand as he stretched himself atop her again. Her breaths came faster and she reached up to clutch the sheets above her head. It was too much to watch, like looking into the sun, she wanted to feel him, not be blinded, so she threw her head back and closed her eyes when he lowered his mouth to her breast and lifted her legs around his hips and pushed inside.

If she thought she would have an instinct to pull away at the intrusion she was sorely mistaken for the only thing she could think to do, the only thing her body seemed capable of doing was rising up to take him deeper.

And he growled her name and it was a searing, filling, tight and wrenching bliss.

Cullen's rhythm made her moan and she ground up against him when he pulled her close. Close. She was so close. She needed to scream and ride him out and she did, loud and lovely and she fell. Into him, onto him, with him, she fell and when he matched her screams with a roar of his own she wanted to die, right there underneath him, not caring if her first was her last and not ever wanting to rejoin the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen forced his way out of the Fade, awakening sweating and panting for air. He sat up in his bed. It was still dark in the small hours of the morning. His eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room and he remembered.

Evelyn.

He turned and found her awake and looking up at him. She rested her head on a pillow, her dark hair forming a halo and her green eyes wide and shining with a light of their own, illuminating the concern behind them. Just the sight of her calmed his breath quicker than normal after waking from a nightmare and the tightness in his chest seemed to recede back without having to struggle with it.

"Bad dream?" She asked him softly, reaching her hand out across the sheets to tangle their fingers together.

"They always are. Without lyrium, they're worse." He was surprised by how evenly he spoke, not betraying the horror he usually felt when he hovered along the edge of the Veil, the visions still so vivid, trying to gain a foothold in the waking world. But as he sat and thought and looked down at the woman in his bed, he realized the only darkness that still lingered was in the fading night of the sky.

The darkness that so often clung to him after a nightmare, that drove him to abandon his bed more often than not, had already left him and he wanted nothing more than to lay back down. He felt untroubled in a way he almost didn't remember ever feeling. It was...wonderful. He almost smiled but he saw Evelyn's brow drawn together and she was biting at her lower lip.

"I didn't mean to worry you." He said quickly. He truly didn't. He wanted tell her about this new feeling. This peace. This calm that she must have somehow imparted upon him when they joined. He brought his hand to her cheek. It was soft and cool.

"Despite the dreams, is it still a good morning?" She leaned into his touch and though she tried to make the words sound careless he heard the small hint of shyness and uncertainty.

He laughed. He laughed at how she could still sound so innocent in his ears even after the night they had. He laughed at how quickly a nightmare was forgotten when he could return from the Fade and find her beside him. He laughed at how fucking wonderful he felt. But he didn't say all of that.

"It's perfect." He said simply, earning him a smile. He wanted to say more. He needed to say more. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly resting his forehead against hers, trying to form the words. "You are...I have never felt anything like this." Even with nothing left hidden between them, he couldn't make what he wanted to say come out properly.

She managed to phrase it exactly and without hesitation. "I love you. You know that, right?" She pulled away and looked at him, again with hopeful innocence.

It suddenly seemed so much easier to speak. "I love you too." And it was said. And he felt freer than he had in ages. Free from...everything, and more like himself, alone and without scars or demons.

Evelyn's smile spread wide. She pulled him down and he let her wrap herself around him, crawling under the sheets.

"You're a blanket thief, by the way." She mumbled into his chest.

"What? I'm not!" He said a little too defensively.

"It's alright. I am too. I'll admit I tried. You were stronger. I know when I'm beaten. I'll bring my own tonight."

Tonight. That word suddenly held such promise now when before it only held the promise of nightmares and sleeplessness. Then again, he would gladly go without sleep if it meant having Evelyn, taking Evelyn, loving Evelyn, again...and again, tonight. And every night from this point forward whenever we're able, he swore to himself.

"I should go before it's too light outside." She said, but she only squeezed him tighter.

"Don't." He squeezed back.

"But if people see..."

"I don't give a damn anymore. Stay."

He could feel her smile against his chest.

xxxx

Despite Cullen's apparent indifference, she still rose just after dawn to make her way back to her own room. At some point, when he was thinking more clearly, he would be grateful she hadn't advertised their new sleeping arrangements to all and sundry.

When she was alone in her quarters, she finally felt able to wear the stupid grin she had been trying to contain. Her thoughts were hazy and bright at the same time. Her hair was a tangled mess from Cullen's possessive grip. Her mouth was sore from kissing and she could still taste his lips on hers. Every part of her ached and it was the most amazing delicious ache she had ever felt. And her skin...Maker, her skin still smelled like him.

She wanted to feel like this forever. High and wild and exhausted and unable to catch her breath. She refused to even bathe. She decided to just pull her hair up and change her clothes. If Josephine complained about her appearance while they still had important guests in residence, well, as Cullen said, she didn't really give a damn anymore. At least not for today.

She decided to take her breakfast in the main hall. It was earlier than she was accustomed to being up and about and there was something refreshing about rising early for a change. Or maybe everything was going to seem perfect today no matter what. Because that was how she felt. Perfect.

'He said it was perfect', she thought to herself, her idiot grin expanding.

Floating as she was on her own little cloud of contentment, she jumped, startled, when she felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder.

"So. Tell me how he was." Almost as if he had been lurking in the shadows, lying in wait, Dorian appeared behind her and then sat down next to her, all smug satisfaction and self-congratulatory airs. He held up his hands. "No! On second thought, don't. I'd rather not have my jealousy stirred before I've had a chance to eat something."

"If you're going to pat yourself on the back, could you please endeavor to do it quietly?" She whispered to him, avoiding the gaze of all the people now filing into the hall.

Dorian's subsequent laugher unsettled her. She stopped eating and her contented cloud dissolved.

He folded his arms and raised one elegant eyebrow. "Oh, dear sweet girl. The dashing Commander must have left at least one thread of your innocence intact. Did you think no one saw your little walk of shame back to the keep at dawn? Or perhaps you think no one saw the Commander drag you like a primitive across Skyhold last night? Or do you imagine no one heard you screaming his name from inside his tower? And even if you believe all of that, my dear, I would still advise that you keep your distance from people today unless you plan on going back upstairs to bathe. You smell like sex and Cullen." And then he twisted the knife, adding, "Also, your hair is a sorry mess."

He left her, belittled and insulted, with her mouth hanging open, laughing as he went. She resisted the urge to throw a dagger at his back. The perfection of her mood withered as she felt eyes on her from all sides. It was all she could do to hold her head up with feigned indifference as she got up to leave the hall. She wanted to find Cullen, but reconsidered. Absence was probably the better part of valor in this situation so she retreated to her room again.

It was there she hid for most of the day. She kept busy at the work stacked on her desk, not wanting to shirk duty or be idle simply because she chose to go into hiding for a while. If Cullen heard anything like what Dorian had related to her, he would likely be agitated about it and it was in her best interest to let him cool off. There was no sense in fueling the fire.

She would have been content to remain where she was until dark when she could at least sneak over to Cullen's tower. Which was something she was perfectly capable of doing on her own without being detected, as opposed to last night when she was accompanied by a large and, in retrospect, over-aggressive Commander.

Sadly, late in the afternoon, one of Josephine's assistants came knocking at her door summoning her to a meeting. She tried to think of an excuse to avoid going, not wanting to face the astute and far too intrusive glare of the Ambassador. There was no readily available exemption, however, and in this case, absence could be construed as cause for more suspicion.

Like a prisoner on her way to the gallows, she walked slowly to the war room. She pushed open the large door and it creaked and groaned under her touch. She entered to face not just Josephine, but Leliana and Cullen as well. Her eyes immediately went to the Commander and then, checking herself, she swept her gaze elsewhere. She didn't notice that he had done the same.

Cullen spoke first, likely wanting to exercise some control over the situation. "Inquisitor..." He started, appropriately nonchalant, "...we were..."

"Eagerly awaiting your presence. Some of us more than others." Poor Cullen. He should have known better than to try to get a leg up on Leliana. The Spymaster laughed at the flustered blush her interruption drew out of both guilty parties.

"I wasn't...I mean, I was..." Cullen paused and scrambled to grab back his dignity. "We have work to do."

"Of course." Leliana agreed, the laughter not having left her voice.

The meeting was long and uncomfortable. The other women's barely contained amusement, Cullen's stiff determination to maintain professionalism and her unfortunate state of arousal that lingered from last night were all eating away at Evelyn's patience. She would swear Leliana and Josephine were dragging this out on purpose.

When business finally concluded. She glared at the two women and spoke with a cutting bite. "Are we finished here, then?"

"I believe so, Inquisitor." Leliana's musical lilt was infuriating. "Thank you for attending to these things. You appear tired. Perhaps tonight you'll find some rest..." And she snickered under her breath as she strolled leisurely out of the room. Josephine moved to follow, but stopped short of exiting and turned back to Cullen and Evelyn seeming to remember one last issue.

"Oh, and Commander," The Ambassador addressed him pointedly. "In the future, please come to me before you take it upon yourself to alter any of the Inquisition's official policies on foreign relations."

Cullen's face went pale and his eyes went wide. His fingers tightened their grip on the pommel of his sword. Evelyn absently noted that she was right when she told herself she wouldn't be able to look at those fingers the same way again. She shifted her weight and bit her lip trying to ignore the fluttering feeling between her legs.

Clearly shamefaced, the Commander appeared only to be able to utter part of a stuttered reply. "I...uh..."

Evelyn looked back and forth between Cullen and Josephine, not liking being out of the loop. "Is there something I should know?" She asked.

Josephine answered but never took her withering gaze away from Cullen. "Earlier today, during their meeting which I had presumed was to discuss military matters, the Commander felt it necessary to inform the Ambassador from Starkhaven that you are not currently, nor will you be in the future, accepting any proposals of marriage from any interested parties whether they be presented as means for an alliance or not."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and turned to Cullen. With no apparent defense against Josephine's accusations and, having misplaced his self-respect somewhere outside this room, he just groaned and hung his head, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

Declaring victory and satisfied at reducing their Commander to a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Josephine turned on her heel and left with a curt, "Inquisitor" as her only parting word.

When the door slammed shut behind her, Cullen let out a growl.

"Andraste's Ass!" He cursed.

"Blasphemy, love? Really?" Evelyn laughed, never having heard him take the holy lady's name in vain.

"Those two..." But he stopped himself before he finished saying what those 'two' were. Leliana would fine out somehow and as exasperated as he was, she knew he had no desire to look over his shoulder for the next week.

"Did you really say that to the Starkhaven Ambassador?" She walked around the large map laden surface to stand in front of him, her skin tingling just by being close to him again.

"Of course I did." He said fiercely, but then he closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he stepped towards her. She retreated backwards to lean against the table, wondering if he would follow. He advanced no further, but he did bring one gloved hand up to cup her cheek. His golden eyes, which just a moment ago blazed with frustration, now held a smoldering earnestness. "This war won't last forever. When it started I hadn't considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now."

He looked down at her, at her lips, at the hollow of her throat, at the slope of her collarbone where it lay hidden beneath her clothes. He looked everywhere but in her eyes, something inside him too insecure to meet her gaze. "I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won't want to move on...not from you. But I don't know what you, that is, if you..."

He couldn't seem to put words to what they both knew he wanted to say. Evelyn was struck by his shy uncertainty when only hours ago, as he was rising and falling atop her, he was strength and confidence personified.

"Cullen, do you need to ask?" She chided gently.

Something in him calmed at her words and a now familiar feral grin found its way back to his face. "I suppose not." He said low as he leaned forward, reaching out and lifting her to sit on the hard wood surface.

This time, when he swept the things obstructing their movement away it was deliberate and he didn't even flinch as various items clattered to the floor. He pushed her back and climbed up to hover over her.

"Cullen!" She gasped as his mouth descended to her neck. She tried to sound appropriately scolding, but she hardly had it in her to protest. "What if they come back in?"

"They wouldn't dare." He mumbled the threat against her throat.

"But aren't you...Hnnnn..." His clever hands had found their way inside her tunic. She arched under his deft touch. She started again, though now a bit breathless, "Aren't you upset that everyone knows?"

He gathered her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, pressing himself against her and drawing from her a deep moan. Obviously pleased at her response, he looked down at her with a crooked smirk. "If there were nothing here for people to talk about I would regret it more." And he descended on her again.

"Do you have any regrets Commander?" She asked, anticipation building inside her.

"None." Clothes started falling to the floor.

She remembered his objection last night to consummating their relationship on his desk. "So it's acceptable for the second time to be on top of a table, then?"

"Love, everything from this point onward is fair game..."

xxxx

Dorian was nursing a bottle of wine in the garden. The sun had just set. He sat in front of the chess board, the pieces of a half-played game left on it. He relaxed back in his chair, enjoying his victory over first times and nameless phantasms.

He smiled amicably when Leliana slid quietly into the chair across from him. "Sister Nightingale, lovely evening, is it not?" He raised his glass to her in salutations.

"A lovely evening for lovers." Her soft voice was like a song.

"And where might the lovers in question be at the moment?" He asked, taking a slow sip of wine and letting it rest on his tongue as he thought of the things they could be getting up to.

"Last I heard he was having her in the war room."

"Hm. I do hope they put things to rights when they're finished. I would hate to set out for The Hissing Wastes, when we really should have been on our way to The Emerald Graves, simply because our Commander needed somewhere to rest her ass."

Leliana laughed. "I shall personally assure that no strategies were affected by their amorous activities."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to crickets and watching fireflies.

"Thank you again, Dorian, for your help. I would have had trouble finding another way to hurry those two along. They should both be much happier now. And much more useful."

Dorian regarded the Spymaster with something akin to esteem. He lifted his glass again. "To productivity, then?"

"To happy friends." She smiled beneath her hood.

Dorian smiled back. "I'll drink to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I can't stop reading and writing about these two!


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